


I Wanted You To Be Better (You Are)

by EndlessNepenthe



Series: We're Both a Little Broken, But Together We'll Fill In The Cracks [9]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN ENDGAME, Emotional Hurt, Feelings, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Endgame, Sad Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 15:52:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18814102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndlessNepenthe/pseuds/EndlessNepenthe
Summary: *WARNING: Contains Endgame spoilers. Do NOT read if you have not watched Endgame!*"You're going to be alright, kid."





	I Wanted You To Be Better (You Are)

**Author's Note:**

> I had the first part of this already written since Infinity War... I had a feeling it was going to end this way but I was happily in denial and now I'm just sAD

Peter is there when Tony takes his last breath.

When Peter Parker takes his first breath without Tony Stark, it burns like the brightest blue flame. And the dam breaks.

He cries, sobs, wails, _screams._ His agony tears itself from his throat in raw sounds of pure unabashed grief, wrecking his vocal cords.

He’d tried not to cry in front of Tony. But now he does, kneeling with his forehead pressed to his fists against the earth.

Peter sobs so hard his breathing stutters constantly, cutting off with strangled sounds of pain in his raw throat. His vision, already blurry from his endless tears, swims as his lungs ache for air, but nothing compares to the pain in his heart. He chokes on the sharp gasps of air his body desperately takes in panic, his brain instinctively overriding his control and forcing him to breathe.

And Peter doesn’t cry for himself.

He cries for Tony’s friends, who will never be able to speak with Tony again. He sobs for Pepper, who never wanted her fiancée in harm’s way but reluctantly allowed it because she had no other option. He screams for Tony, who will never be able to cry and scream for himself.

He cries for a world that will move on, a world that will only ever know the cocky billionaire Tony Stark and not _Tony._

Tony, who pretended not to hear things he declared too trivial to listen to but somehow always knew exactly what had been said despite _not listening._ Tony, who loved with his whole being, falling too hard and too deep, forcing him to be prickly, to keep people at a distance to protect his own fragile heart. Tony, who’d been sacrificing himself in hopes of making a difference in the world his father had left in pieces, in blood, in _war._ Tony, who had a rare smile and an even rarer laugh, the cruel world not allowing him many opportunities to smile, not many reasons to be happy. Tony, who greeted Peter with a lopsided, slow and relaxed smile some mornings, despite his grumpiness and lack of sleep. Tony, who always had warm encouraging words on the tip of his tongue, words he would never direct at himself but would readily offer to anyone else. Tony, who deserved all the happiness in the world, who deserved to see the world that had only been avenged because of all his efforts. Tony, who deserved to live in a giving world but was thrust into a world that only _took,_ mercilessly, all that he offered, _everything._ Tony, who had been born with pain and tragedy in his blood.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

He doesn’t want to be here. He does, but he doesn’t.

He’s here out of necessity, actually. He needs to be here, and yet he needs to be anywhere but here.

But Spiderman can’t just take a vacation, because crime most certainly won’t.

So Peter finds himself back at the Tower that stood tall and proud in Manhattan, New York, deliberately avoiding the Avengers that had taken Pepper up on her generous offer of residence after the Compound had been destroyed in the battle against Thanos. As one of the rare few with access to Tony’s lab, Peter doesn’t encounter anyone; he supposes that Pepper and Rhodey would have no reason to be going down there anytime soon, anyway.

The cheerful fluorescent lights are on at full brightness when Peter exits the elevator, FRIDAY remaining startlingly silent, as if the AI was aware that the smallest thing could send Peter spiraling. Hesitantly, he presses his hand to the scanner next to the door, and with the sound of the fluid mechanical hiss of the secure lock releasing, Peter could almost pretend that it was any other lab day. That he’d pull open the gently frosted glass door and be greeted by the once familiar sight of Tony sitting at his table, fiddling with one of his numerous projects. That he’d hear the roll of Tony’s office chair when the billionaire, without fail, turns to acknowledge Peter’s arrival and invite him to feast his eyes on whatever new creation that was in the making. That he’d hear Tony’s warm and velvety smooth dark voice curl affectionately around one of the many teasing nicknames he had gleefully bestowed on Peter.

_How was school, kiddo?_

_Heard you helped an old lady cross the street the other day, good work Spiderkid._

_Hey Pete! ‘bout time you got here, been waiting for you._

_Did you bring the suit, Spiderling? I need to run some diagnostics. Dumb question, you always bring the suit. C’mere._

_Kid, time for those upgrades I told you about! Let’s test ‘em out._

_Anything exciting happen today, Underoos?_

When Peter enters the lab, it’s cold. The huge empty space would never feel _right_ without Tony being a mini tornado of creative inventor intent in the center. Before, whenever Peter had found himself alone — an extremely rare occurrence — in Tony’s lab, he would always find himself feeling unbearably lonely, the feeling of _something is missing_ gnawing at his insides, until Tony showed up or Peter himself went to search for the billionaire. He had never had a reason to be in the lab by himself, since Tony would always insist on dragging Peter along with the excuse of _About time you take a break, too,_ whenever Tony had to use the bathroom or grab something to eat; Tony was never wrong, and Peter readily trailed after him, wherever he decided to go.

Gritting his teeth, Peter casts his eyes down.

It still looks the same: tools scattered over practically every flat surface, empty downturned mugs sitting on tables waiting to be filled with coffee or water, random notepads with the makings of huge ideas scribbled onto their first pages, little colourful sticky notes adorned with messages in Tony’s or Peter’s and occasionally Pepper’s writing stuck on anything imaginable, weird abstract paintings on the walls (Tony had replaced two of them, to Pepper’s half hearted protest; one with a giant Iron Man poster, the other with a Spiderman one), conveniently placed stools and office chairs on wheels in various stages of disarray like they were waiting for someone to return.

It still looks the same. As if Tony had simply gone up to the kitchen to grab a snack because he had gotten hungry. As if Tony was reluctantly taking a bathroom break at the insistence of his bladder. As if Tony had returned to his bedroom to take a shower and finally sleep for a few hours in his bed. As if Tony was going to return any second.

It still looks the same. But it would never be the same ever again.

Peter stubbornly holds back the tears that threatened to burst forth because Peter can’t have a breakdown in Tony’s lab. He will _not._ Not here.

Not where Tony had created so many Marks of his suit. Not where Tony had created the Iron Spider. Not where Tony and Peter had all those energetic conversations about the chemicals in Spiderman’s webs and how different upgrades to their suits would affect the overall functionality. Not where Tony had laughed, loud and without restraint, when Peter had accidentally downed half a mug of Tony’s coffee instead of his water before he’d realized what he was doing, and started bouncing off the walls in an attempt to release the spike in his energy levels. Not where Tony had huffed, quiet and absolutely endeared, whenever Peter had fallen asleep with his face pressed awkwardly against the table, dragging gentle fingers through Peter’s hair to wake him up and then coax him to bed. Not where Peter had accidentally discovered that Tony was sensitive at his sides, resulting in a sudden tickle war between the two, low rumbling chuckles mingling together with high squealing giggles until they were both breathless and gasping for a truce. Not where Tony and Peter had worked side by side, perched on stools, Tony answering his emails and Peter scribbling at his homework, their legs pressed together along one side, easy and comfortable. Not where Tony had often been _content_ in this space, near happy.

Peter won’t allow himself to cry here. Anywhere but here.

Keeping his gaze trained on the floor, Peter allows his feet to carry him through the lab, toward the area he usually worked in, a path he had walked so many times he could likely do it in his sleep. He focuses on his goal, the reason he had forced himself to set foot in the lab in the first place despite his heart breaking at the mere idea. _The drawer at the bottom of the table, the one that’s locked with fingerprint recognition. Need to grab the small box from in there, then leave. That’s it. C’mon Peter, you can do it. You have to do it._

It’s easy. Pressing his thumb to the raised square, waiting for the approving beep and the sound of the drawer unlocking, pulling out the small latched box that contained a dozen pre filled tiny vials of webbing for Spiderman’s web shooters. He remembers exactly when he’d made them, before his interrupted field trip, peering out from behind huge goggles Tony had always fussed over to make sure he was wearing them correctly; please, Peter had chemistry class at school, he knew exactly how to put on goggles, thank you very much. Peter sets the box gingerly on top of the desk, pushing the empty drawer closed before straightening up and grabbing the box in one hand, more than ready to hurry out—

_“Hey Pete.”_

Peter freezes with a sharp gasp. He could never forget that voice. Slowly setting the box back on the table, Peter whirls around, heart pounding.

Tony sits on a chair that’s placed backward, casually straddling it with his arms propped up on the back. For a second, Peter can see it: the solid black of Tony’s v neck, the lighter black of Tony’s suit jacket, the light glinting off the thick band on Tony’s left ring finger, the chocolate brown of Tony’s fluffy hair, the deeper and darker brown of Tony’s eyes, the way Tony’s chest rose and fell with his breaths. Then Peter blinks, and the Tony in front of him is tainted with the subtle blue tone that screamed _hologram._

“Mr. Stark?” Peter finds himself asking anyway, voice low and breathless.

Tony’s gaze drops from Peter’s, expression falling hesitant and melancholic. He licks his lips nervously, glances back up.

_“Just thought I’d record a little something, just in case... It’s been a long time, kid. World’s not the same.”_

He pauses, eyes drifting to one side, and Peter catches the unspoken words. _I’m not the same._

_“I was lucky. Had Pep, had a kid. You’ll love her, she’s a ball of energy, like you.”_

Tony smiles directly at Peter, soft and gentle. Peter grimaces, choking back a sob.

 _“Can you believe? It only took me a few hours to perfect it. Time travel.”_ Tony smirks, but there’s something dark twisting it, something close to bitterness. _“Even Bruce couldn’t manage it. Y’know, I — I told Pep. That I could put a pin in it, sink it, forget about it. Go to sleep, wake up none the wiser.” _ He scoffs. _“As if. We — I’m going to fix this. No matter what.” _

Something is swimming behind the determination in Tony’s eyes, and Peter finds himself approaching Tony, unable to tear his eyes away.

_“You’re going to be alright, kid.”_

**_“Mr. Stark? I don't feel so good.” “You’re alright.” “I don't_ **—** _I don't know what's happening.”_ **

_“See, I never wanted you to be like me, kiddo. I want you to be like_ you.”

**_“I just wanted to be like you!” “And I wanted you to be better.”_ **

Peter inhales a ragged breath, trembling.

 _“Watch out for Morgan, alright? I’m sure you’ll be the best big brother.”_ For a moment, Tony seems to want to say something else, but instead he closes his eyes for a long blink. _“See you soon, kid.”_

Tony disappears with a small smile and sorrow swirling in his eyes. Peter stands with his head bowed, struggling to breathe through the sudden flood of silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

When Peter goes to Tony’s funeral, standing uncomfortably in his new and perfectly pressed suit, Peter doesn't cry. He holds his head high, and hopes that his mentor is listening.

_Rest well, Tony. Thank you for being my hero._

**Author's Note:**

> Goodbye writing this made me cry


End file.
